Archive for July, 2013

Well, I’m pushing myself to write things I can sell with my erotica pen name again. Which is going…okay. I had a lot of other things I needed to deal with today, but I at least have an idea of how this section will go of my current project, now. Which is good, because a week or two ago I had no real idea of what I wanted to do.

Except I’m too tired now to even string together a coherent lead-up to my snippet, so here, a thing I wrote:

***

“You sure it’s alright that we’re here, dude? I mean, I know he said he’d talk with me, but did he really want both of us there or –”

“Jess,” Dustin said, placing a hand on Jess’s shoulder. The two of them stood in front of the gated doors leading up to Shawn’s incredible mansion. “Breathe, alright? He wants both of us here. Said to meet him at three. It’s okay.”

Jess fidgeted on his feet and worried the hem of his shirt with his fingers. “What if — what if he changes his mind, dude? What if he decides he doesn’t wanna let you be his ‘toy’ or whatever all because you’re with me and I ruin this for you and –” ***

“You’re not gonna ruin this for me,” Dustin muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looked out over the winding road that lead to Shawn’s mansion, squinting at nothing in particular. “Shawn’s an alright guy. Stop being so nervous.”

“That’s easy for you to say — he wants to have sex with you,” Jess mumbled, looking away from Dustin.

“That’s true — I do want to have sex with Dustin again, but –” Shawn slipped an arm over Jess’s shoulders, causing both Jess and Dustin to jump. “I also don’t want to cause friction between him and his boyfriend — unless the ‘friction’ is less metaphorical and more physical, of course,” he continued, winking at Dustin. Dustin’s face turned red just as Jess’s eyes grew wide.

“M-Mr. Baker…?” Jess stammered, his jaw hanging open.

“The one and only,” Shawn replied, smirking at Jess. He pulled his arm away from Jess’s shoulders pulled a set of keys out of his pocket. “I’m sorry to keep the two of you waiting. I had a meeting I needed to be at — and it ran a little late,” he said, pushing the gates open effortlessly. “Also, please, call me Shawn. I fucked your boyfriend, for Christ’s sake. I think you earned the right to call me by my first name when you gave him permission to stand in line.”

Jess nodded, wordless as Shawn waved for him and Dusin to follow. The three of them walked up to the large, french doors, Dustin and Jess always a step or two behind Shawn. Shawn turned to smile at them both over his shoulder, a mysterious glint in his eyes. Silence enveloped them, resting comfortably between the three of them as they made their way through the huge mansion.

Jess could hardly keep track of how many doors they passed until Shawn paused in front of another set of french doors and pushed them open. They entered a beautifully furnished office — maybe it was a conference room? Either way, a large desk sat towards the back of the room, complete with a leather chair resting comfortably behind it. Two other chairs sat in front of the desk and Shawn gestured to them both.

Before Jess could sit down, however, Shawn offered him his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Jess,” he said as Jess took Shawn’s hand within his own. Shawn’s eyes lit up again and he settled into his seat. “It’s also nice to see you again, Dustin.”

Dustin nodded, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away from them both. “You two gonna discuss the rules of sharing me or what?” he asked, his cheeks quickly turning red all over again.

“That’s the plan,” Shawn said, folding his hands on top of the desk. “First, Jess. I have to ask: did you read the letter I sent?”

“Yes, I did, and — would you really do all of that? I mean, would you really want to have sex with him in front of a bunch of other people? And how often are you thinking of ‘borrowing’ Dustin, anyway?”

Shawn held up his hand, effectively cutting Jess off. “One question at a time,” he began, clearing his throat. “I’d prefer to see Dustin once a week. Ideally, he’d spend the night here, but if you’re not comfortable with that arrangement — either of you — I’d certainly understand.”

Jess glanced at Dustin, who raised an eyebrow at him. “You okay with that?” Dustin asked before Jess could ask the same question himself.

Sighing, Jess looked away from him, turning his eyes towards the ceiling. Was he okay with that? Once a week seemed to be a little much. “I think I’d be more comfortable like once every two weeks,” he said finally, returning his gaze to Shawn’s.

Shawn pursed his lips together before nodding slightly. “I can work with that,” he said, a half-smile on his face.

I do, however, have a better start on it than I did yesterday. I actually like the beginning of it; I think I’ve just run out of steam. It’d bedtime for my kid and he’s still awake and i’m pretty much passing out in the living room waiting for him to stop making noise. Might have to tell the assholes living upstairs to be a little fucking quieter, but that might just be because the upstairs apartment door needs to be shut.

But anyway, without any further bitching, here’s the start to my LJI entry:

***

It’s something out of a dream, almost, when I step inside the low-lit piano bar. People move about, laughing and smiling, some tipping back their beers while others clink their glasses together in makeshift toasts. Even the bartender seems a little different from usual, offering me one of his finest scotches before the request can even pass my lips.

I take the glass without a word, taking another moment to really take it all in. There’s no music; the din of never-ending conversations taking its place instead. The piano is without a player, and overly-cushioned chairs surrounding it are filled with faces I don’t recognize.

The scene shifts as I move across the room, the Others sitting around the piano hardly sparing me a glance as I take the only empty seat remaining. I lean back, my glass just under my nose as the pianist materializes in front of us, her sleek black dress leaving very little to the imagination.

The scotch burns my throat almost as much as her stare does, cold grey eyes focusing on me for only a moment before she looks away. From where I’m sitting, I can see her fingers stretch over the expanse of white intermingled with black. As I watch them, I feel them and how they scorched my skin as they recalled tunes she no longer knows.

I couldn’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve last seen her — since I’ve last felt those hands drift along my body. All I know is that it’s been too long, and that I still want those hands on me instead. She opens her mouth to speak, but the drone of the bar grows louder, drowning out her voice as her painted lips move in a mockery of speech. She smiles, her eyes fluttering closed as her fingers dance along the keys, the opening chords uplifting and pleasant.

It’s just music, I told her once. Just a piano, nothing more. Press the buttons in the right order and voila, music!

It’s more than that, she spat back, her fingers poised over the keys. Her mouth twisted and her eyebrows bunched together, her eyes screwed shut as she pressed the keys. An angry, violent noise filled the room.

I am that author!anon who never goes anon. I like to see the comments (if anyone leaves any) on my stories, no matter the kink. The better ones? They’ll go on FFN. Or Ao3. I just wrote one today, and it felt good, writing fanfiction and getting that out of my system. It was a short, barely 500 word piece for the Attack on Titan fandom, with the pairing Levi/Eren. The prompt spoke to me.

In other news, I am flailing miserably over my Idol entry. It’s another intersection week, and I have the most amazing partner ever, and I love our idea, but I can’t get the words to come. It’s just…not there. I have been struggling with my Idol pieces for a few weeks now (gee, I wonder why…?), but this one is giving me one hell of a time. And I NEED to get it done — I can’t leave my partner high and dry. That’d be pretty shitty.

I’m hoping if I sleep on it, my brain will figure it out. I started it, didn’t like what i had, and quit, and wrote the AoT fanfic. I’m actually about to start another AoT fanfic, because another prompt is calling my name. But I am making myself write my Idol entry tomorrow, then some of Say You’ll Let Me, the second part of my erotica series Say What You Want. Because I wanted to put out one book of that a month — I had three parts planned that I would eventually release as a novel by itself.

While personal problem won’t be solved for a while, I think I figured out ways to mentally deal with it and reduce my stress. Some of the time. Today was a really good day. I am going to try to make tomorrow just as good of a day. We’ll see what happens.

So I finished that ImagineYourOTP piece I started yesterday, which is great, because I haven’t finished much of anything lately even though I’ve done plenty of starts and stops.

I can’t let go of things that are going on in my life. The anger over them pops up unexpectantly and just takes over my mind. It makes me incapable of writing; it makes me incapable of doing anything, and it sucks. I want to stop feeling angry. I want to write. But I can’t make myself write, either, when I catch myself in that loop. It’s awful, and I hate it, and I’ll find a way to break it, one of these days.

Until then, here’s part of the smut I wrote. Enjoy:

***

Savin’s jaw dropped again, the heat in his face returning tenfold. “You — “ He cut himself off, almost grinding his teeth together as Mitchel’s words filtered through his brain. “You think you’d be the one to top?”

“I’m older,” Mitchel stated, as if it were that simple.

“I’m taller,” Savin muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mitchel snorted. “By maybe two inches at best,” he said, putting the knife down on the counter. He gave Savin a sly smile. “Would you like to test this theory, Bates?”

Savin’s arms tightened over his chest, his eyes unable to leave Mitchel’s hands as they began to deftly undo the knot of his tie. “You’re not suggesting we –” A lump formed in his throat, forcing him to clear it. “– we fuck, are you?”

Those fingers never stopped their motions, pulling the tie away from Mitchel’s neck with practiced ease. Mitchel’s sly smile never faltered, not even as he approached Savin, effectively backing him against the counter. “And if I am?” Mitchel asked, leaning in close. His breath was hot against Savin’s neck, their bodies not quite touching.

“Uh — I have a boyfriend…?” Savin mumbled, refusing to meet Mitchel’s eyes. A boyfriend who might be home any time. A boyfriend who’d probably flip his shit if he saw Savin pinned against the counter like this, Mitchel dangerously close and moving even closer.

“I think Callahan wouldn’t mind watching us, should he walk in at any time,” Mitchel breathed, his lips brushing against Savin’s neck. Savin leaned as far away from Mitchel as he could, almost sliding on top of the counter just to get away.

“You are seriously fucked up if you think I’m gonna cheat on Jazz just because you think he’d be okay with watching us fuck,” Savin muttered, pushing Mitchel away from him. He slid away from Mitchel as best he could, making sure to keep his front to the older man the whole time.

Except those hands wrapped around Savin’s wrist, preventing him from getting away. Mitchel’s strength surprised Savin as Mitchel pulled Savin back to in front of him. Mitchel’s free hand ghosted along Savin’s bare thigh and slid under the apron. “So?” Mitchel countered, smirking at Savin. “I thought you said you would top, Bates? So far I’m the only one making any advances…”

Savin grit his teeth together, wishing he didn’t feel a familiar warmth moving through his body as Mitchel’s fingers continued to drag themselves along sensitive skin. Instinctively, he spread his legs, letting Mitchel move between them. “That’s because I don’t want to make any ‘advances,’” he groaned, a quiet gasp escaping him as Mitchel kissed along his neck and shoulders.

Either way, I’ve had mine for over a year. I follow about 60-70 blogs on there, no biggie. Most of them are fandom related, because I like to at least watch the pretty fanart from the sidelines even if I’m not producing fanfiction for my fandoms. Which, let’s be real here, most of my contributions to any fandom now is smut. I love writing it, what can I say?

But there’s a tumblr I follow called “Imagine Your OTP.” It is the best blog ever. It is also very inspiring, and has gotten me writing things these past few days while my brain slowly corrodes due to real life stress. I came across one of their little scenarios — which was basically this: Person A decides to surprise Person B by making dinner — wearing nothing but an apron. There’s a bit about Person A being embarrassed/feeling self-conscious when they hear the door opening and bolting to hide, basically.

I ignored that part, lol. But I thought “Savin would so do this!” and then I started writing it. Instead of it being Jazz/Savin like I had intended it to be… Mitchel showed up. Apparently, I haven’t been writing enough SavMitch for his liking. Or something. The piece is really meant to just be silly and for me to keep the writing going, so it’s not very serious — nor is it very in-character. Don’t particularly care. Here is part of it, because it amuses me:

***

“Planning to surprise Callahan in that getup, Bates?” Mitchel snickered. “What, pray tell, is supposed to be appealing about you wearing just an apron like that?”

Savin glared at him, tugging the edge of the apron further down over his legs, hoping he hadn’t inadvertently flashed Mitchel earlier. “What do you want, Mitchel?” he snapped.

“I needed to speak with Callahan in private,” Mitchel answered, shrugging a shoulder. His hand drifted to his tie, smoothing it out some as Mitchel’s eyes finally moved off of Savin’s body. Savin’s shoulders relaxed a little, though he kept his hands on the hem of his apron, holding it in place. “However, it’s obvious that Callahan isn’t here. Is he at a meeting with the NBLM?”

“Yes,” Savin muttered. He continued to watch Mitchel’s hands, the heat in his face finally dying away. He crossed his arms over his chest, a thought worming its way through the back of his skull. “How the hell did you get in?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at Mitchel.

Mitchel held up a single key. “Callahan gave this to me months ago,” he said, smirking to himself. “I was coming to return it, as well. If I had known you were here…”

“How the hell do you have a key?” Savin demanded, snatching the key from Mitchel’s hand. He shoved it in one of the small pockets of his apron.

“Bates, as a man known for his medical prowess, surely you can figure out why for yourself?” Mitchel prompted, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t move away from Savin, either, though the two stood too close to each other for Savin’s comfort. “The same reason you have one, I’d imagine.”

“I live here now — of course I have a key,” Savin said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Now, can you please leave? I’m trying to make dinner and –”

“I wasn’t aware you could cook,” Mitchel remarked, his smirk never leaving his face as he moved past Savin. Savin turned on his heel, careful to keep his backside out of Mitchel’s view. “Then again, it is an art that requires both your hands and your mind, so it’s not all that surprising.”

Savin just stared at Mitchel, his jaw going slack as the older man walked towards the kitchen. He tried not to think that the bastard in front of him may have lived here, too, once — if Mitchel had, then…

He didn’t want to think about that. Definitely did not want to think of Jazz and Mitchel in bed together, or living together, or anything together. He felt his fists ball at his sides as he stalked into the kitchen after Mitchel. “What the hell are you doing, Mitchel? Leave.”

“Why should I?” Mitchel countered, raising an eyebrow yet again. “Callahan should be here shortly — his Thursday meetings have never run long. It’s not my fault you’re continuing to embarrass yourself by insisting on wearing that frilly mess. Though I must say, that is a good look for you.”

Savin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you mocking me, asshole? Because I’m not afraid to kick your ass while wearing this,” he threatened, moving towards Mitchel.

Mitchel glanced over at him, boredom apparent in his eyes as he picked up the knife Savin had left lying on the counter. Savin’s eyes widened, unable to focus on anything else as Mitchel picked up the knife and twirled it between his fingers. “I could help you prepare this,” Mitchel offered, selecting the onion from the line up of vegetables. “As long as you put on some clothes, that is. I would prefer not to stare at your backside unless I’m taking you, myself.”